Every green thing glittered, and the air was so rain-sweet that all
the summer scents were gone, before the crystal scent of nothing. Mrs.
Pendyce's shoes were soon wet through.
'How happy I am!' she thought 'how glad and happy I am!'
And the feeling, which was not as definite as this, possessed her to the
exclusion of all other feelings in the rain-soaked fields.
The cloud that had hung over Worsted Skeynes so long had spent itself
and gone. Every sound seemed to be music, every moving thing danced. She
longed to get to her early roses, and see how the rain had treated them.
She had a stile to cross, and when she was safely over she paused a
minute to gather her skirts more firmly. It was a home-field she was in
now, and right before her lay the country house. Long and low and white
it stood in the glamourous evening haze, with two bright panes, where
the sunlight fell, watching, like eyes, the confines of its acres; and
behind it, to the left, broad, square, and grey among its elms, the
village church. Around, above, beyond, was peace--the sleepy, misty
peace of the English afternoon.
Mrs. Pendyce walked towards her garden. When she was near it, away
to the right, she saw the Squire and Mr. Barter. They were standing
together looking at a tree and--symbol of a subservient under-world--the
spaniel John was seated on his tail, and he, too, was looking at the
tree.
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